


the world is quiet here

by newsbians



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: F/M, M/M, a character study for stan i suppose, but they are dead. it chp. 2 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 14:37:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20707649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newsbians/pseuds/newsbians
Summary: stanley uris was finally in control.





	the world is quiet here

**Author's Note:**

> eddie says fuck a lot also Lots of mention of suicide/razors.

stanley didn’t mind the empty space before him, if he was going to be honest. and generally that’s exactly what he was, good and kind stanley uris, good and reliable stanley uris, good and faithful stanley uris. 

he was now good and dead. good and gone. good and slashed-his-wrists-in-the-tub. 

people probably didn’t view him as good anymore, but great, a hero within his own right, because that’s what people would do when others took to a razor blade instead of a therapist. hell, stan had done it himself back in junior year of college, when the kid three doors down from him jumped off the balcony with a note pinned to his chest. he had shed the crocodile tear and made the poor bastard out to be someone they would all remember for years to come.  _ the irony, _ the wry thought crossed his mind,  _ is that i can’t remember his name. and they won’t remember mine.  _

patty would, of course. the one of seven people he felt guilty leaving, the good and demure patty uris, patty uris who would cry at the funeral but be able to cover the expenses on her own because that’s the kind of woman he married. she was the most stable of wives and doted on him like her life depended on it, and in some instances he supposed, it did. life was not easy for a child growing up jewish in the nineteen fifties, and she would whisper with a dry throat what a nightmare it was to be a child growing up jewish and female in the nineteen fifties. her nails would rake across her arms like a nervous habit when she told him these stories until he had the sense to hold her until she stopped trembling. the tics went away eventually but the rasp in her throat when she repeated “Peacock Patty” never faded. he had dealt with his own share of names  _ stan the man the jew with the plan _ but nothing that left him reeling in bed on nights when it was hard to shut his eyes. 

so yes, patty would remember. his parents too, but he didn’t need them to do him that kindness, he wouldn’t have minded being forgotten by donald and andrea uris. they had been good parents as any tried, but in the end slowly ebbed to the back of his mind with the rest of Derry. stanley always thought this was odd and patty always thought he was lying to her, but he had no recollection of his childhood. there was a name and a spot on the map with a red pin stuck through, but names and faces were troubling to recall. the only thing he could recount with complete certainty was the losers club, billstanrichieeddiebeverlymikeben. they were names he did keep from patty though, because maybe it was for the better, maybe it was for her safety, or maybe it was for his. 

eventually it would have come to this anyways. either the stupid dancing clown could bring him to this quiet world, or he could deliver himself. stanley had always enjoyed being the one in control, but not the man in charge. he would mastermind the projects, keep the schedule, and ensure that the work was done right, but he stepped aside for someone with a loud mouth to make sure it all happened. when things fell out of his control, when he cleaned his glasses four times but they still sat wrong on his face, when he flicked the light switch eight times but he still had to call patty to make sure she was okay, that’s when the fear would settle deep inside of him.

the same that reached through his intestines and pulled on his ribcage when mike  _ billstanrichieeddiebeverlymikeben _ hanlon had called him, when he asked for stan to do the impossible. give up his control. 

his last exertion of power had led him here, and he really didn’t mind it, if he was being honest. which he was, because that’s just who stanley uris is. good and honest and nice and good and _stanny boy_ and  _ kookie kookie _ and  _ a sliver of a coke bottle _ and dead. 

___

eddie  _ hated _ it here. the walls were all fucking white but there actually weren’t any walls it was just white empty nothing that he just kept walking towards with no goddamn avail. if he had a watch he would have to guess that he had been here for at least three hours, but time and space didn’t seem to fucking matter when you’re in a white never-ending nothing. 

he kept walking because what else was there to do. 

he called out for richie once or twice, though. no one answered. 

___

stanley sat with his legs crossed, because any other way would’ve made him feel sick. he looked out into the vast blackness of the new world he inhabited, until a voice cut through the eternal silence. “richie? are you there?” a faded figure in the distance, just a shadow of a man. billstanrichieeddiebeverlymikeben. stanley tapped on his knee in groups of four. 

“rich i swear i’m not mad!”

taptaptaptap

“if this is a joke it’s really not fucking funny dickwad!”

taptaptaptap taptaptaptap 

“richie?”

taptaptaptap

“richie are” taptaptaptap “you there?”

“please.” the voice broke. stanley now lie in the aftermath. 

“please be there.” 

taptaptaptap taptaptaptap 

if stanley wasn’t smarter than that, he could swear that the man calling out was little eddie kaspbrak _ the asthmatic with an ass  _ all grown up. against all of the white, he could see the blood dripping in a trail behind him. he could understand the mess, because his wrists made their own. this is how stanley uris knew he was not looking at eddie kaspbrak, because that boy would have never let himself bleed freely.  _ (nonviable tissue, ischemia, haematoma, immunosuppression) (robin, blue jay, sparrow, bald eagle)  _

“richie!” stanley almost reached for the man’s hand as he trailed by, still wailing for a man that was never going to come. he thought better of it, though. he didn’t know this man. taptaptaptap. he didn’t know what would happen. taptaptaptap. 

eventually the voice faded and stanley was left again, alone with the clean white room. and he didn’t mind it, because it reminded him of the puffy clouds against a bright blue sky, standing on the tip of the world with  billstanrichieeddie-  _ what were their names again? _ billstanrich-  _ how long ago had it been? _ bill-  _ what promises, mike? what did we promise? _

stanley didn’t mind the empty space before him, if he was going to be honest. and he always was, because that’s the kind of man everyone needed him to be. 

___ 

  
eddie _hated_ it here. it was so fucking empty. 

**Author's Note:**

> i just adore writing from stanley's point of view esp. when there's no romance it's just stan being the man. also BIG sad react for eddie in this, it made me rly sad to write.  
please leave a comment and i will attempt to murder a killer clown with a baseball bat after yelling "welcome to the loser's club asshole!" for you  
follow me on tumblr @/deafwestnewsies


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